


Tears and Tiaras

by colfhummel



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfhummel/pseuds/colfhummel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My dad took my baby away when he found my tiara collection in my hope chest." </p>
<p>Takes Place during "Acafellas".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears and Tiaras

“Kurt, get into the living room, I need to talk to you.”

Burt’s loud voice startles him. Kurt had just come home from school and was about to hoist his right leg onto the little chair that stands in their corridor to unlace the countless shoestrings on his black, knee-high leather boots.

He follows his father’s voice and walks into their living room, not knowing what to expect.

 

Burt is standing between the sofa and the small wooden coffee table. Upon walking further into the room, he sees the small box standing on the table and for a second he turns back into a 5-year old, thinking that his dad might have bought him a present and was about to surprise him with something.

The feeling disappears immediately when he sees what is inside the box. 

Burt is standing in front of him now, arms crossed over his chest and wearing a frown on his face.

There is a sick, worried feeling rising in the pit of his stomach and he opens his mouth, tries to form words even though he has no idea what to say.

It’s his father, who breaks the silence first.

“What the hell is that,” Burt says and points to the box, his tone reproachful, as if he were scolding a small child.

“My… tiara collection,” Kurt says meekly and blinks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, a hot pink blush spreading over his pale cheeks.

Burt clicks his tongue before letting out a deep sigh.

“Kurt, you know I usually don’t interfere in your business, I let you be, and I really don’t think I’m that kind of overbearing parent but come on, buddy, what were you thinking?”

There it is again, the reproachful tone in his dad’s voice and Kurt feels like he’s shrinking.

He tries to understand his father’s angle, tries to understand  _why_  he’s that upset over some stupid jewelry he’s found in his room. Of course, he realizes it’s not a common thing to hide in your closet when you’re a teenage boy, but surely, it wasn’t that bad?

Burt is still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“I, um…,” Kurt starts and shakes his head a little, trying to find the right words in hope to successfully alleviate the situation, “I find them…pretty.”

“You wear them?” Burt asks, his tone revealing that he wouldn’t be pleased if Kurt did.

Kurt shakes his head. “No, no, I- I just look at them, that’s all.”

He’s lying. Of course, he wears them. He likes to watch himself in the mirror, admiring how, every time the rhinestone is reflecting the lights in his room, it looks as if the tiara itself is sparkling. It makes him feel pretty.

 

Burt seems to notice that Kurt might not have been telling the truth and inhales sharply.

“Look, buddy, this gotta stop,” he says, his voice sounding less angry now, “I really don’t care what you’re spending your pocket money on - like, I let you buy all these weird clothes you like so much, even though I’m not really sure if some of them are even made for men – but see, I let you do that. But, buying women’s jewelry…? That’s taking’ it too far, kiddo, I’m sorry.”

Despite of trying to fight it back, Kurt feels his own anger rising.

 “Dad, …why are you getting so upset about this? It’s not as if I’m harming anyone by buying these things, do you know what other guys my age spend their money on? They’re buying cigarettes and alcohol and-“

“I don’t care what other kids your age do and what not, Kurt. And yes, you are harming someone – you’re harming  _yourself_ with that kind of stuff and I won’t let that happen.”

Kurt, now crossing his own arms over his chest in a defiant pose, narrows his eyes at Burt’s words.

“How am I harming myself with that?”

“You’re different than other…boys, Kurt. We both know that - have always known. And I accept you the way you are, but the world outside? It doesn't. Do you really think I wanna get a phone call from school one day telling me my son has been beaten up by some guys for wearing a friggin’ crown to school?!”

“Dad! It’s a tiara and I won’t wear it to school, it’s just for ME, at HOME!” Kurt bursts out, his voice rising with his temper.

“Watch your tone, young man,” Burt warns him. “Look, Kurt, I hate to do this – and I don’t want you to see this as a punishment – but I think there’s no other way to make you listen, to make you understand.”

There is a slight panic rising in Kurt’s stomach at hearing these words, he doesn’t like the tone of that. He doesn’t like it at all.

“Give me the keys to your car, kid.”

Kurt’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“What?!”

“You’ve heard me, give me your keys,” Burt says in a calm voice and stretches his arm out with an open palm.

Kurt doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand a single thing.

“Why….what, I don’t understand, Dad…”, he says, trying hard to keep his voice steady despite the big lump rising in his throat.

“Listen, I know you’ll be mad at me for now, but I’m doing this for your own good, Kurt. I feel like you might not yet be responsible enough to understand that some things aren’t  _good_  for you, so, that makes me really question if you’re responsible yet to have your own car. I need time to think about that. You give me the keys, and let’s say, we wait a few weeks and see how things go and then we can talk about it again, alright?”

No. Nothing’s alright.

Kurt feels tears prickling in the back of his eyes. He’s used to it by now. Used to getting treated differently – treated unfairly – by everyone around him but never once, had his dad made him feel like that.

His nose is tingling, the lump in his throat rising and he can clearly feel the wetness in his eyes now but he doesn’t yell or storm out of the room, like any other teenager his age would have. He reaches into his pockets and hands out the keys in silence and without further protest.

There is a voice inside Kurt’s head, encouraging him to say something – say something terrible. And he wants to give in, he wants to hurt his dad in that moment. He’s hurt him, too so it’s only fair if he’s doing the same.

Looking into his father’s eyes, he suddenly feels provoked. He doesn’t know what’s causing it, but it makes him give in to the voice in his head.

He lets it happen.

“I wish Mom was still alive, she would understand. She always understood me…not like  _you_ ,” he says, full of spite.

For a few moments, both of them stay silent. The atmosphere in the room is tense and thick.

Kurt’s breath hitches when the first tears roll down his flushed cheeks.

He waits for his father to yell at him; waits for his loud voice to break through the silence like a thunder.

But it doesn’t happen.

Instead, the older man swallows hardly and examines the key in his hand, avoiding looking Kurt in the eye.

“I think you should go to your room now,” Burt then says, his voice sounding flat.

And Kurt does, nearly missing some of the steps due to his tear-dimmed eyes as he strides down the staircase to his room.


End file.
